


All That I'm Supposed To Be

by Jaune_Chat



Category: Marvel Avengers Movies Universe, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Daddy Issues, Dubious Consent, Howard has issues, M/M, Multi, Stark Spangled Banner - Freeform, Threesome - M/M/M, Tony is messed up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-08
Updated: 2012-07-08
Packaged: 2017-11-09 10:06:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/454271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jaune_Chat/pseuds/Jaune_Chat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Howard Stark could only think of one way of connecting with his son: doing anything for the good of the company.  Years later, Tony’s lovers inadvertently stumble over the landmines in Tony’s past.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All That I'm Supposed To Be

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BrighteyedJill](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrighteyedJill/gifts).



> This was written for a [prompt at avengerkink](http://avengerkink.livejournal.com/7293.html?thread=13725821) (prompt in the notes below).

“Arnie, really, you can’t expect me to believe you’d really go to Pullman for the contract,” Howard said, pouring a generous measure of his best scotch and handing it over with a smooth smile. Outwardly he was as confident as he’d been since Arnold had walked in the door. Inwardly his stomach was a ball of ice. They couldn’t pull the contract. They couldn’t. Damn it, the US military had been buying Stark weapons for _decades_ and just because the newest versions were better, faster, more powerful, and easier to use, they weren’t going to foot the bill. Because the “price wasn’t right.” 

Money. Jesus, as if they all weren’t throwing around the total worth of small countries in talking about buying weapons. Howard had slashed the price to the bone for them, all to protect American soldiers, and for the first time in thirty-plus years the military was looking elsewhere. Because of fucking money, Arnie was seriously considering going with Pullman instead. Oh sure if you looked at both weapons’ demos you’d be a little forgiven – the damage was comparable, but Pullman’s weapons were built by trained cockatoos with tinfoil and chewing gum. They wouldn’t last under battlefield conditions. Great for getting a whole lot of guns bought cheaply, assuming you didn’t care about the cost of lives.

Howard did. He wasn’t a military man, had never needed to fire a single bullet in his own defense, but he knew that luxury was given to him by the blood of the men on the front lines. He’d only lost a single soldier, and that had been enough. Never again. He’d never let those brave kids go into a fight with anything less than the very best he could give them. 

(A small part of Howard’s mind pointed out that Steve had been covered head to toe with the best Howard could design in 1944, and he’d made his own choice, his own sacrifice, but Howard couldn’t absolve himself of the guilt that if he’d just given him something else, a stronger weapon to use against Schmidt, a _goddamn parachute_ , Steve might have survived to have that date with Peggy.)

“Howard, you have to understand that things are different now. It’s not just the military that’s needing things nowadays. We have environmental people and foreign aid and a hell of a lot more than we did even ten years ago. I have to bring things in under budget. That’s how it’s got to work,” Arnie said, taking a measured sip of the scotch and nodding appreciatively at the taste. He had a bland smile on his bland, politician’s face, looking so completely forgettable in his Washington suit and government tie that Howard wanted to grit his teeth. It was so intolerable that this petty, soulless, style-less bureaucrat was talking about money to Howard when lives were on the line.

And Howard would have cut the price, _given_ him the weapons those boys needed, but he had a company to run and if he ran it into the ground, he wouldn’t be able to help anyone else in the future. So he smiled in return and changed tactics. Arnie had already heard his arguments about Pullman’s poor build quality, his shoddy craftsmanship, and apparently having to buy more weapons later didn’t matter as long as he could get the contract under budget _now_.

“Arnie, you don’t know all that you’d be buying with Stark weapons. And I’m not just trading on our reputation. We earned that long ago, but I see you need to be reassured we have everyone’s interests at heart. Come on down to the workshop,” Howard said. “Let me show you what I’m talking about.”

It was a desperation move, but Howard was a desperate man. There were a few modifications that he could make, maybe, things that could justify his price and make Arnie see reason. He had enough things on the workbench to make up something on the fly if he had to. He shoved open the door, eyes flicking briefly over to Tony, working on something in the corner, before turning back to his own bench. Hell if he knew what to say to him. Tony was back from prep school on summer break, and the time away had, if anything, given Howard even less idea of what to say to his kid than before he’d left.

Tony had embraced the computer age practically since he’d come out of the womb, mastering things as a toddler that Howard still struggled to understand. Howard was sure, given the way technology and science was advancing, Tony would outstrip him completely in time. But for right now he was just an unknown anomaly living in Howard’s house, a gremlin that worked in his workshop and occasionally appeared in the kitchen whenever Maria was home. 

Howard strode to the workbench and put on his best smile as he laid out several prototypes and began his spiel about improving the grip or redesigning the shoulder strap for ease of deployment, anything to catch Arnie’s attention and make him get past his stupid accounting block. Except Arnie wasn’t listening. His eyes kept glancing off to the side as Howard poured on the charm, lingering on the corner of the workshop. Howard followed his glance, annoyed and curious as to what the hell could be getting the man’s attention, and found his eyes resting on his son. 

Tony was reaching for something on a high shelf, his old, too-small t-shirt riding up to expose a strip of his bare back, those goddamn old ratty jeans clinging to him like a second skin (Maria claimed she’d tried to throw them out, but Tony kept rescuing them from the trash), his shock of dark hair sticking up in all directions, with smudges of grease decorating his arms. And Arnie looked like someone had just detonated a concussion grenade by his head, he was so stunned.

“Arnie?” Howard prompted, an inkling of an idea starting to emerge. 

“Howard,” Arnie said, and blinked, turning back to Howard with a sly smile. “I need to know we’re going to get the best service with a Stark contract. You know how important that is to me- us.”

Howard looked back at Tony briefly, now sitting down, messing with a circuit board and a soldering iron. Looked back at Arnie, his bland politician’s face, his bland politician’s suit, and his invisible hammer that he could use to smash everything Howard stood for just by saying no. Looked back at Tony, the concentration on his face, and only saw Steve, strong enough for ten and vulnerable as anyone. Only saw thousands of servicemen who needed the weapons he had to put into their hands.

There was a spare bedroom down here. Maria was out with her friends for the night. 

Howard walked over to his son.

\--

Tony looked up, surprised as Dad broke into his personal space. Then he looked back down again before he could burn through the connection, and moved the soldering iron to the next place. Hell if he was going to stop working just so Dad could tell him to get out so he could continue with his damn sales pitch. Mom would pitch a fit if she caught Tony soldering in his bedroom.

“Tony, son,” Dad said awkwardly. It was always awkward. More awkward now that Tony was away at school, too young to fit in or have “friends” that didn’t resent every breath he took. Some of them looked at him like some kind of mascot, but that was about the best he could manage. Whatever. His birthday was in August, he’d applied to MIT, and they’d be idiots to turn him down even with the late application, not when he could fly circles around people twice his age already. Tony would be out of Howard’s hair forever as soon as he got the acceptance letter.

“Yeah,” Tony grunted, barely acknowledging his father. If he could just get the next few places, he’d be done…

“Arnie’s here about the contract. They’re thinking of giving it to Pullman.”

Tony nearly dropped the soldering iron. Business was about the only thing Dad ever talked to him about. And he was deadly serious about business. Tony put the iron back in its stand, unplugged it, made of note of where he’d stopped working, and turned to give Dad his full attention. Arnie, or rather Mr. Rush, had been around a time or two before, but Tony had only glimpsed him. Still, he was responsible for signing off on this contract and that made him a pretty big deal, particularly to Dad.

“They can’t do that,” Tony said. Dad might have been a cold-hearted bastard, but Tony knew whatever Dad designed was the best possible thing it could be. You’d have to be brain-dead to not want Stark weapons. What the hell was Mr. Rush playing at, thinking about giving the contract away?

“I know. It’s a money thing. He wants…” Dad paused to search for words. “He wants to know he’ll be taken care of.”

Tony swallowed as Mr. Rush smiled at him over Dad’s shoulder. His stomach began to churn and his head to throb. He was too smart not to know exactly where this was going.

“I can’t let those boys go out there with Pullman’s crap weapons, Tony, I can’t. I need you to help me. Will you do that?” Dad looked desperate. He was looking at Tony like he had some kind of answer, like he could solve a problem Dad couldn’t. Like he needed him.

Howard Stark hadn’t looked at Tony like he needed him in… forever. Ever. Dad had never needed him to do anything in his life. Nothing Tony had done had been enough to get Dad to look at him, until now.

Tony swallowed, shoved his hands in his pockets, and nodded his head. It was just for business, for the business that he’d run someday. He had to keep the business running. Dad smiled at him and put his hand on his shoulder. 

“Go on to the bedroom, Tony,” Howard said in an uncharacteristically gentle voice. Tony’s stomach clenched again as Mr. Rush leered at him, and left, walking to the spare bedroom. It took most of his willpower not to throw the bolt behind him and lock out the world.

He could hear Dad and Mr. Rush talking briefly, and then the door opened again. Mr. Rush shut the door and stared down at Tony, sitting on the bed, and smiled broadly.

“Tony, Tony, Tony. Good lad. This’ll be really easy, just listen to what I’m going to tell you.”

Tony swallowed again and tried to keep fear out of his expression. He let himself go blank, show the bored and careless face he used to keep Mom from asking if anything was wrong. He could do this. He could make Dad _see_ him, he could help the company, he could save all those soldiers Dad always talked about.

He was a genius. He could learn fast.

Tony got on his knees, opened his mouth, and learned to take what he was given. His jaw was sore, he never thought he was going to get the taste out of his mouth, his knees hurt, and Mr. Rush had damn near suffocated him when he’d come, pressing Tony’s face into his groin, smearing his sharp-smelling sweat onto Tony’s cheeks.

It was all Tony could manage to not wretch, after. The only thing that kept him from making a dash to the bathroom was Mr. Rush’s satisfied expression. Tony didn’t dare fuck that up, not when he’d done what Dad had asked. 

Mr. Rush just tucked himself away, tugged his suit straight, and left. Tony endured the terrible smell and taste long enough to press his ear to the door.

“Howard, I think we have an understanding. I’ll do all I can to get your contract pushed through. It’s going to take some effort though. Several rounds of hearings, but I think I’ll be able to manage to persuade them.”

“I can’t tell you how much I appreciate that, Arnie. I just want to make sure those boys get the weapons they deserve. I’ll be around until you straighten things out in Washington.”

“And so’ll I,” Mr. Rush said, sounding smug. Tony heard him turn and go, walking out of the workshop. Dad found him in the little bathroom, washing his mouth out with water and Scope.

“We’ll make this work, Tony,” Dad said. “We’ll get this done, won’t we?”

Tony looked up at his father, knowing he was dirty and smelled like an old man’s sweat and come, knees and jaw hurting. Dad looked down at him, looked right at him, and actually seemed relieved that Tony was there, instead of being irritated by his mere presence.

Tony nodded, and spat out a mouthful of burning green mint.

\--

Mr. Rush came back six times that summer. Tony learned what he wanted fast, watching Mr. Rush’s reactions like he was a problem that needed solving, figuring out how to move his tongue, what to best do with his lips, how to put his hands on him to get him off fast and _not_ choke Tony half to death. He checked out back issues of magazines Mom would have grounded him for having, and snuck into a theater in a really seedy part of town to watch professionals at work on the big screen. 

It worked. It was worth it. Dad lost that pinched look around his eyes, announced his new contract with the military at a big company meeting that had everyone cheering, and Tony got his acceptance letter to MIT. He’d given Dad something to be proud of, helped the company, and was out of the way, hopefully forever. Mom never had to know. Hell, she was proud of the way Dad had managed to make some kind of connection with Tony. He’d never tell her what it had been.

Three weeks into the semester, he got a call from Dad.

“It’s Ethan Wagner. He’s been blocking this merger we need, Tony. We have to acquire Guffman Electronics so we can get to work on these new targeting systems, and Ethan’s throwing up roadblocks.”

Tony heard the question in Dad’s tone. He popped a mint into his mouth before he answered, staving off a bad taste memory by will alone.

“When and where, Dad?” he asked softly. 

After Mr. Wagner it was Mr. Thompson. Then Mr. Klein. Mr. Bates had wanted more than a blowjob, and Tony had to skip a week of classes afterward. Sex had hurt like a _motherfucker_.

More research in between his robotics projects and math classes had shown that Bates hadn’t even known what he was doing. Tony snorted softly as he perused the explicit article, and stocked up on lube. He knew he couldn’t stop, that there would always be others, and he couldn’t be a wuss and try to back out of the one thing he could do for the company. He gave the next investor a show, slick fingers up his own ass while moaning like a pro, and ended up sparing himself a shitload of pain. Tony was getting as good at performing, at giving Dad’s associates and investors and senators what they wanted, what Dad needed to keep the company on top.

When he was sixteen, Dad bought him a girl. Her name was Misty. She had hair like a fall of platinum, legs that wouldn’t quit, and breasts that could stop traffic. Tony kissed her once, and then had her stay in the workshop with him while he tinkered with the robot he was building, talking about everything but Stark Industries, and sent her home with a huge tip from his trust fund. He didn’t need a pity-fuck on Dad’s dime.

He drank himself into a stupor that night. The next guy Dad sent his way Tony let fuck him hard enough to leave bruises, just once. Just to see if it would help. 

He kept the rest of Dad’s appointments strictly on his terms. The marks had been damn hard to explain.

The next year he graduated. He’d been on his knees in his graduate gown below the stage before the ceremony, indulging one of Dad’s investors that had a kink for semi-public sex, right before his mother watched him cross the stage with honors. Dad hadn’t been there, but Mom had beamed at him proudly, and Tony smiled so she’d never guess what he’d been doing not a half-hour before.

One month after that his parents died. 

Obadiah came to see him alone a month later, down in Dad’s- his –workshop, somehow hoping that if he shaped enough metal, programmed enough code, traced enough circuitry, he could make the hollow ache in his chest go away. 

“Tony,” Obie said, slinging an arm around his shoulders, holding him tight enough that he couldn’t get away. “I think you and I need to talk. About the company.”

Tony froze for ten seconds. Then reached for his pocket and popped a mint in his mouth. It wasn’t over. Of course it wasn’t over. He wasn’t ready yet. The company couldn’t use his ideas yet. He wasn’t in control. The company wasn’t his, it was Obie’s. Dad and he had shared everything. And Tony had his role, his job to do to keep things running smoothly. Of course Dad had told him.

“Who?” Tony asked, shoulders slumping. “Where?”

“Good boy, Tony,” Obie said, and hugged him proudly.

When Tony took control of the company four years later, he found the appointment book and burned it in the company furnace. He made sure Obie found out. Obie never said a damn word as Tony took up with every willing lady, and very occasional gentleman, that crossed his path and brought the company ever higher with the power of his brain, rather than his ass. He wanted that playboy reputation come by honestly, so people could shake their heads in reluctant admiration at his libido while still marveling at his engineering skill. And he made it happen, what he hadn’t been able to do before.

Tony didn’t figure out until he was paralyzed on a couch two decades later that Obie had never forgiven him for slipping his leash.

\--

Iron Man changed everything, and not just because Tony’s rebirth coincided with Obie’s death. It was an end to tumbling into bed with every willing body, it was being vulnerable and scared and yet having to be stronger than he ever had before. It was reevaluating his friendships and deciding the kind of man he wanted to be.

It was saving the world and making up for a lifetime of using his talents indiscriminately. 

And this time, amazing as it turned out, he wasn’t alone. He had Rhodey at his back and Pepper at his side. And they’d tried doing a little tango for two, but Pepper knew too much and not enough and they were both too good working hand-in-snarky, brilliant-hand to take things in another direction. She was his stability, and they needed that.

But when the Avengers happened, there were suddenly two others who could go any direction, who knew about the sacrifice, the loneliness, the throwing yourself into stupid amounts of danger because you were the only one with the skills to make it right. Steve and Bruce understood transforming yourself, never being the same again, of having a new life thrust upon you in a way you never expected.

It went from understanding to horizontal understanding fast, adrenaline and long years alone and “we could have died, fuck, let me know you’re all right with my entire body” combining into a strange, satisfying knot of warmth in the tangles of Tony’s life. He didn’t even know where they were all going, but there had been too much regret in his life to hesitate, and he wasn’t going to pause in this headlong dive into something good. 

\--

“Fuck, _please_ ,” Tony said, arching slightly as Steve slid in deeper, stretching him wide and making him gasp. “Yeah, like that, _god.”_

Tony’s words were swallowed up as Bruce leaned down to take possession of his mouth, something he gave up willingly to feel Bruce gently suck on his tongue, lazily battling with him in slow counterpoint to Steve’s thrusts. Bruce’s hand slid down Tony’s chest, neither avoiding the arc reactor nor lingering, and flexed his fingers against his stomach. Tony moaned in appreciation as Bruce slid his hand further down and firmly grasped his cock.

Bruce was tucked up against Tony’s side, his own erection pressed into Tony’s side, slippery with pre-come and the sweat of all three men’s exertions. They were so close together, a knot of hard-muscled flesh brought together through insane coincidence and understanding forged in fire. Two of them who’d found power by accident and had given it over to the greater good, two who’d stove to be something more than their origins, two who’d been in service to their country past what anyone would have considered enough, the three of them had found a way to fit together.

Tony pulled back slightly from Bruce so he could reach between them and return the favor, loving the way Bruce’s face went trustingly slack as Tony stroked him, how Steve favored them both with an understanding glance as he braced himself to deepen his thrusts into Tony’s body.

“Yeah, so good,” Tony gasped, bucking into Steve and making Bruce make some high, broken sound as his cock throbbed in Tony’s grip. “Go on, give it to me, come _on_ Steve.”

“What d’you need, Tony?” Steve murmured, disgustingly in control even when balls-deep in Tony’s ass. Dr. Erskine deserved some kind of posthumous Nobel Peace Prize for giving Steve that kind of stamina. Bruce murmured a vague echo of the question, his arm siding against Tony’s as they stroked each other, his eyes blown dark with lust. God, he didn’t deserve them, didn’t deserve this kind of nirvana after fucking up so much in his life, but he’d gotten tired of trying to tell them it couldn’t last. It _had_ , and that’s all there was to it, according to Steve. Bruce had just quoted formulas and proofs at him until he’d been forced to quit trying to tell them otherwise.

“Need…” Tony gasped out the word as Steve changed his angle, sparking a thrill of pure pleasure along his spine. “Talk to me.”

“Dirty?” Bruce managed, using his thumb to circle around the head of Tony’s cock, spreading the slick pre-come around and making Tony close his eyes to process the spike of blissful sensation.

“Yeah,” Tony breathed. He needed to hear their voices, hear them taking him apart. There were a few moments of silence as Steve and Bruce had a quick, silent conversation over Tony’s writhing body, and then Steve started up again, thrusting slow and deep.

“So good Tony, so damned tight around me,” Steve said, his voice dropping to a low growl. 

“You take him so well, just look at you. Want to get a picture for my wall, show you off,” Bruce said, right in his ear.

“Need two of us to get you off, so greedy for it,” Steve said, going faster, making Tony rock backwards on the bed. Making some strangled noise in his throat, Tony lifted his legs so he could hook them around Steve’s back, opening himself up for him. It took a hell of a lot of concentration to remember to keep his hand moving on Bruce, but he managed just for the feeling of Bruce thrusting into his hand in desperation.

“God, Tony, you take it like a whore,” Bruce said, his voice ragged. “You need it so bad.”

“Yeah,” Steve said in agreement, growling as he firmed his grip on Tony’s hips.

Tony froze at the word, his hand stilling, his ardor cooling like someone had dumped him in an ice bath, his erection wilting. 

“Tony?” Steve said, freezing in place, a stricken look coming over him. Bruce’s head came up as Tony withdrew his hand, and looked horrified.

“What? Tony, what’s wrong?” Bruce said, letting go of Tony’s cock.

 _Whore_. Shit. 

Steve pulled out with infinite gentleness, and the two of them braced him on either side, their bodies warm against him, but not pressing too close. Giving him space to run if he had to. Fuck. What the fuck had he done to deserve them?

Tony Stark, company whore. Dad had never used the word. The endless parade of investors and associates and who-the-hell-cared had never used it either. They hadn’t had to. Everyone knew what was going on. Everyone knew that Howard Stark had an ace in the hole when it came to getting what he wanted, to keep his company on top of the world. He’d placed it firmly on Tony’s ass, Tony’s mouth, given him a fucking _job_ to do.

Why bother naming him? It had been the truth. 

Fuck Dad, fuck Obie that all that shit should come up _now_ when he least needed it to. Fuck them that it should interrupt his time with Steve and Bruce. Fuck them.

“I’m sorry,” Bruce said softly. “Tony, I’m sorry.”

Tony put his hands over his face and could smell Bruce’s scent, bitter salt with a chemical undertone from the drugs he used to keep his own body from being poisonous to his lovers. Comforting. Familiar.

“Not your fault,” Tony said, muffled through his fingers. “Not you. Not either of you.”

Steve touched him, his fingers skimming down the side of his chest, those extra-warm hands soothing away the tension that had gripped his body.

“Gotta tell us where the landmines are, Tony,” he said, and leaned over to kiss him. “Don’t want to hurt you.”

“You don’t,” Tony said fiercely, taking his hands away and catching Steve’s face to kiss him back. He reached out and fumbled for Bruce’s hand, bringing it up to splay it against the arc reactor. Bruce’s breath caught in his throat, and he buried his face in Tony’s neck, kissing him hard where he knew it made Tony shiver and moan. “You don’t ever.”

“We’re yours,” Bruce murmured against his skin, keeping his hand still under Tony’s, letting him take control. “Always, you got that?”

The fear was thawing between them, dissolving in the warmth of the two people on either side of him. His friends. People he loved, he trusted. With him because _he_ wanted _them_ as much as they wanted him. 

Fuck Dad and Obadiah. Fuck them and their fucking messed up priorities that they couldn’t seal a fucking business deal without trying to sweeten the pot with the one person who would have given anything for their approval. They didn’t need that. Tony had run the company for _decades_ without needing that. Fuck it if two dead men were going to break him with a word. He’d been through too much shit for that.

“Just…” Tony trailed off as they leaned into him, braced him, kissed him so hard he started to see stars. Touched him high, above the belt, wrapped themselves around him, pulling him upright so he was enveloped by them. Steve’s irresistible strength, Bruce’s quieter, underlying toughness, both of them with the insight and understanding to drive him high, and then higher, until he clutched them with a strangled cry. He came in a long and blissful spending from just their mouths on his, their hands on his chest, trusting him to let them know when enough was enough, him trusting them enough to know they’d stop if he asked.

“Yes,” Tony whispered, his body shaking through the aftermath as they kept themselves wrapped around him. “Yes.” He’d needed that more than he could say, more than he would have been capable of telling them. 

“Ok?” Bruce asked, his voice light as air. _Forgive me,_ Tony heard.

“Yeah,” Tony said, putting all the sincerity he could into his voice. He turned to kiss him, fierce and possessive, and turned to Steve with a softer and more apologetic caress. “That’s my hardline, Cap. That word.”

“Heard,” Steve said instantly. “We hear you.”

Tony leaned back and pulled them both down with him, hearing both of their breathing as they laid together close in the dim light. In the softness of the bed, he could feel their strength pouring into him, and breathed that deep into himself. He felt them respond against him, wanting, but not urgent, and smiled.

“Come on,” he said, and rolled onto his back. He checked their raised eyebrows with a genuine smile, and sighed in contentment when Steve pushed inside him and Bruce tucked himself close against him, warm and solid and wanted. Tony welcomed them inside him and against him, and felt like he’d just come home.

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt was:
> 
> Howard was completely fucked up by the war. By the time Tony was born he could only see things in terms of body counts. So when he sees the way an associate is eyeing up Tony (who is around 13 years old), he offers them a night with him as a way to close the deal. Because Tony would at worst be hurt a little, but if the deal falls through it will mean substandard weapons for US troops, which will cost lives. 
> 
> Howard genuinely thinks he is doing the right thing, and really can't see how wrong he is. 
> 
> It works the first time, so it becomes an almost regular occurance right the way up to when Howard dies. I like to think Maria had absolutely no idea what was going on, and Obidiah knew and encouraged it. 
> 
> Cut to the present day when Tony has finally ended up in bed with the guy he is completely head-over-heels for. This guy is talking dirty to him while fucking him, and happens to call Tony a whore. 
> 
> It hurts because it's true.


End file.
